The Chronicles of Tucker
by ArtsySkat
Summary: "But who will you choose when it's time to actually grow up? Who's it gonna be when you have to stop screwing around with everyone's lives, Craig? It's not as easy as you want to believe it is." Craig. Tweek. Kenny. Clyde.
1. introduction

**A/N**: _I don't own South Park. :3 this fic is rated T because language, and honestly if you can't handle swearing, why do you watch South Park? Thank you~_

I woke up that morning like I woke up every morning: as a smoking image of godly beauty. Well, I had some dry drool on the side of my mouth and my hair was standing up every which way, which is close to god-like. I am classy, god damn it. I was out of bed for school on a Friday morning, and that was okay. It was boring, it was simple, it was routine. Mostly, it was how I liked it. I am Craig Tucker: classy motherfucker. This morning in particular, I decided to, well, not change anything about how I dressed. I put on my usual: black skinny jeans, obscure band t-shirt, jacket, suspenders that hang around my ass, as if they say, "Hey! Look at Craig's ass! Pretend you're looking at us! It's totally okay!"

I laced up my worn red converse, fed Stripe V, and head out the door to my car. At the start of senior year, I had finally been granted a car from the mystical forces that are my parents, and I thanked them thoroughly. It's pretty nice, despite being used. It's no clunker. It's nothing to lust after, either. It's a nice car, and it gets me places. Except it's kind of an awful mess, but damn, I'm an eighteen-year-old boy, is that not expected of me?

Once in the car, I plug in my iPod to listen to some music on my way to the hellhole known as "Park High". Yeah. Not _South Park High_. Just Park. Meaning all the South, North, and Middle Park kids went to the same school, right in the center of all of them. The whole situation was just fucking frustrating, and I hated thinking about it, but it's been the norm for four years now, and I'm pretty much almost done. It's March, and soon the year will end. High school will end for me.

Oh, most teens carpool on the way to school. I don't. I don't think it counts if you only pick up one person sometimes. I pick up Kenny McCormick on days that Stan and Kyle don't want to, or they just want to fuck before class or something, I don't know. Today is one of those days. I mean, I'm pretty close to the guy, since I'm kinda poor, and he is the town's ghetto. I'm probably supposed to drive Ruby, my sister, to school, but I don't really wanna, and she doesn't wanna ride with me, either. I think she rides the bus with Kenny's sister, Karen. I don't know. I cross the rickety train tracks, pulling into the McCormick driveway, and take notice of the eerie quiet in the air. This place was usually pretty loud because of "domestic disturbances" about every day. Stewart and Carol must be passed out or something. Kenny sat outside on the porch, smoking a cigarette with his orange parka tied around his waist. I leaned out the window and called, "Come on, asshole, I don't have all day."

Kenny got up without saying anything witty, and got in my car. Shit. Something was wrong and now I had to ask. "Something bad go down?" I pull back out of the driveway, heading now toward the school.

"Yeah."

"Mind sharing?"

Kenny sighed. I wasn't sure if he'd tell me or not. Must be really shitty. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but he quickly closed it again. Finally, the blond said, "I don't really feel like talking about it, dude." I nodded in response, turning up the music. Sometimes guys just don't want to talk, and that's okay. I, for one, prefer silence to small talk. If people could only shut the fuck up for a second and enjoy silence, the world could be a little bit better.

We got to the school about twenty minutes later, and parted ways without a word. I went straight to my group, just like Kenny went to his. Technically, we weren't really separate groups anymore, we kind of blended together, but in the same way, we're still closer to our original friends. Stan, Kyle, and Kenny merged with us around the time that everyone finally ditched Cartman for real. Everyone got tired of that asshole in freshman year, and so we all decided to dump him on his fat ass.

Except he still goes here, and we all still tolerate him. He just happened to get into football in wrestling, mainly because he likes being allowed to hurt things for sport. So that crazy anger got put into an outlet, and now Eric Cartman is a little more tolerable, but no less of a douchebag. He's a little less fat, and a little more solid, but nobody cares except maybe Wendy. Those two have a fucked up secret relationship going on, one that nobody wants to think about too long. Stan and Kyle are out. Yeah, you'd think they would be secret, but everyone has known forever that they were gay for each other with that Super Best Friend shit.

So I was best friends with Token, Tweek, and Clyde, and just friends with Stan, Kyle, and Kenny. We were an unlikely bunch, but I sure as hell stuck out like a sore thumb. I had pitch-black hair that touched my shoulders and swished across my forehead, pale skin, a septum piercing, gauges, and tattoos. Oh, did I mention my tats? I got two last year, illegally, and one this year, legally. On my left arm, I've got one sleeve done, and connecting to the sleeve, I have a black rose on my hand cause hand tattoos are cool. On my right wrist, I have an anchor. Pretty stereotypical, but it gets worse. On my right shoulder blade, I have the quote from _Hamlet_, "To thine own self be true" because ya know, in a world full of fake bitches and whores, that's important. Oh, my mom cried when she saw my sleeve. I mean she straight up cried and starting praying, and my dad was like "Hey at least he's not a huge pussy!" Anyway, the anchor and quote were illegal, done by Kenny, and they look good. If you have a tattoo in South Park and you're a minor, a McCormick probably did it. They act like they have no art skill, but they're pretty talented.

I took a moment to appreciate my sleeve by taking off my jacket, half because I'm vain, and half because it's not that cold today. Unfortunately Tweek didn't want me to appreciate my own spectacularly beautiful body, because he got freaked the hell out for whatever Tweek reason that was and dropped his thermos. Well, he almost dropped his thermos, but I caught it midair. It was a ninja move, and it won't happen again for another twenty years. I hand it back to Tweek carefully, adding, "Jesus, Tweek, be careful, okay?" The spastic blonde nodded, clutching at his silver thermos like it was essential to life. For Tweek, it probably was.

I was kind of ignoring all the conversation today. I dunno I just didn't feel like talking. Neither did Kenny. But nothing bad happened so far. I decided to watch everyone. People-watching is fun, because you can turn into a fly on the wall if you really wanna. We were all outside in the parking lot, by a half-wall and our respective cars. I moved over to the half-wall and pushed myself up onto it, sitting there, looking bored like always.

In actuality, I watched everyone. I started with Stan and Kyle, because they were the easiest and most predictable. They'd been together all through high school, and they've always been so close. Right now, Stan was looking at Kyle, but Kyle was talking to Kenny. It was friendly, and Stan was just kind of giving Kyle that look like, 'you-are-the-most-perfect-human-to-ever-be-born-an d-I-want-to-have-your-adopted-babies'. Soon enough, Kyle would look back. He did. Kyle smiled a little, most of his smile in his eyes. I noticed Kenny looking down at his shoes during this exchange. He felt like a third wheel, I could tell. It was kind of a pity, because Kenny was someone I related a lot to. He was a nice guy, and he was funny. A player, yeah, but I'm a straight up slut. He looked sorta like me, with tattoos and stuff, but that motherfucker looked like a goddamn jcpenney model. I looked away from him, getting bored; instead I looked over to Clyde. Clyde was talking to Token about football. Clyde looked like a puppy, all innocence and loyalty. He was my best friend, so yeah, I liked the kid, and I definitely trusted him. He was just so damn innocent.

"Holy shit you guys, did you see me demolish that asshole at the wrestling match last night?" Cartman asked, speaking up for the first time that morning.

Kyle rolled his eyes, "None of us went to it, fat ass."

"Pretty much, yeah. We don't want to see you straddle some guy until he passes out." Stan shrugged, and the rest of the group agreed. Cartman turned scarlet red in the face and began to sputter.

"Well, y-you guys are just goddamn… goddamn dirty… dirty ASSHOLES. Fuck you," he yelled, stomping off to crush the dreams of eight-year-olds or whatever it is Eric did. I laughed, shaking my head slightly. The guy was fucked up, and he always had been.

I sat where I had been, on the wall, watching everything. I'd gotten pretty good at it over the years, and people forget you're there if you're quiet enough. Kenny got sick of standing beside Stan and Kyle eye-fucking each other, so he headed over next to me on the wall. "Goddamn they can get obnoxious," Kenny muttered. He was on his third cigarette of the morning, I noticed.

I smirked, "Jealous, McCormick?" I joked. Kenny laughed out loud. It was a charming sound, you know. I mean, I'm hot and all, but Kenny had that all-American look to him: blond hair, blue eyes, nice jaw. Not to mention the tan that seemed pretty much impossible for Colorado.

"Speak for yourself, Tucker," Kenny retorted, eyes still on the couple we were talking so blatantly about. It's funny how oblivious they are all the time. We were talking about them, full voice, and they were still giving each other the eyes. Oh wait. Kyle noticed. I received the glare from Hell (even though his people didn't believe in hell), followed by, "Fuck you guys," from the redhead himself. This time, both Kenny and I laughed at him, and I flipped them off. "You first, Kyle," I said to him.

All of a sudden, I felt the warmth of my blue chullo hat abruptly leave my head. I whipped around to see who the culprit was. Behind me I saw a tall, way-too-skinny blond with _my_ hat in his hands. "Give it back, Tweek," I warned, swinging my legs around the wall to face him. Tweek grinned. He'd gotten ballsy over the years, and this wasn't anything new.

"No," the twitchy little asshole smirked. I got angry, and moved to push him down onto the gravel, but he made a clumsy grab at my hair, and I ended up going down with him.

"Don't pull my goddamn hair!" I yelled, throwing a punch at the side of his face.

We went through this bullshit at least once a month. We're really close, yeah, but it's like we were genetically coded to punch each other on a regular basis, because I don't fucking know. At this point we were rolling around on the ground, and oh fuck. Tweek managed to get on top of me and now he had leverage. Fuck that. I grabbed the skinny bitch by his jacket, and pushed him over onto his back. I yelled, "Give up, you little shit!"

He fought back diligently, I'll give him that. We ended up rolling around on the ground throwing cheap shots until some sweaty middle-aged teachers had to pry us off of each other, which was kind of awkward, because both of us were taller than the teachers. Significantly.

We pretty much ended up where we always ended up—the counselor's office. There we sat, in little wooden chairs in front of Mackey's desk. Mr. Mackey had his head on his desk, and I swear I heard him say, "I am getting too old for this poo," before he raised his head and looked wearily at the two of us, sitting there, noses bleeding, lips cut. "So, Mr. Tucker. Mr. Tweak. What happened?"

I shrug, "Nothing," I started flatly, "he just stole my hat and I got pissed off." I finished off my sentence by playing with the strings of my hat. Tweek nodded in agreement. Mr. Mackey put his head in his hands, sighing heavily.

"You know what? M'kay. I don't give a poo. Leave. I don't care. I quit, m'kay," he told us, pointing weakly to his door, his tone full of exasperation. I got up to leave, and once we were out, Tweek grinned at me.

"Damn, that was f-fucking awesome," said Tweek, grinning at me.

I nod at him, and we high five. "Do you wanna go outside to smoke." I ask, although it sounds like a statement. It comes with the nasal voice, which was so much worse with my re-broken nose. My nose is kinda big, and therefore kinda easy to break. I mean, _Tweek fucking Tweak_ can break my nose. We walked out the back door of the school, heading around the corner until we saw the Goth kids. That's how you know you're in a safe spot. The Goth kids basically gravitate towards the best spot to sit and go unnoticed by adults as the chainsmoke all day, and do whatever Goth kids do.

Tweek pulls out his pack of fancy, snob cigarettes and holds it out toward me, to offer me one. I take it and put the cancer stick between my teeth, light it with my cheap BIC lighter, and take a long drag. This was sort of a habit between us. We fight, we smoke. It's a cycle. Most people wouldn't take Tweek for a smoker, but those people were dumbasses. Basically our whole group did drugs to an extent, except maybe Token and Kyle, because they were smart and they had "potential". Most of us smoked weed or something, right? No, Tweek did pills. Probably because he was already on so many to begin with, but he liked the weird medicine high and I didn't really get it. Sure, I mean, it was okay. Not for me.

"Sorry about your nose," said Tweek, rubbing at a cut on his lip.

"It'll heal," I replied, sounding nasal as ever. "But hey, watch the piercing next time, man. That shit hurts. Plus, I don't really want my septum ripped out." He nods, taking a drag. We ended up doing this, carrying on conversation, until the Goth kids made us leave. I didn't know why they were such assholes. Maybe if they weren't such cunts, they wouldn't hate life so much.

I left before Tweek, heading to one of my classes and deciding to skip it. I sure as hell didn't feel like school. I really should have been sent home anyway. So I walked out to my car, got in, and fucking left. Nobody would be home anyway. I could actually enjoy myself. This is my life. Nice and boring.


	2. flirting and failing

**A/N**: _I don't own South Park. Duh. No I mean I'm *actually* Trey Parker and I'm writing fanfiction about the comedy cash cow I invented almost twenty years ago. Not. *eyeroll*_

_So yeah if you're reading chapter two, thanks 3 I hope you're reading until the end c:_

Okay, so maybe I don't wake up every single day thinking that I'm the sexiest piece of ass in the whole universe. Some mornings are like this morning. Some mornings I wake up and say things, "I should just splatter the walls with my brains so I can get it over with."

You see, two days ago I cut class. The day after that, I found out I was failing. All. Of. My. Classes. _But Craig haven't you been a failure your whole life?_ No. The answer is no. I am a senior in high school. I am almost done. Who the fuck do I have to blow to get a passing grade?

I lay in bed with the blankets up to my ears, staring at the eggshell-colored walls blankly. This is not happening to me. There is just no way that _this_ is _my life_. I've always been a smart kid, even though I didn't look like it. Plus, I'm no Broflovski kid. I just happen to have a lot of know-how on a lot of things. Turning in assignments is not one of those things. I sometimes do my work, but I rarely turn it in. I always have class, but I often skip it. I want to skip today. Today, I'm miserable. I roll over from my position in bed, from 'tiny curled up fetal position of misery' to 'face first into the pillow to hopefully smother myself'.

I heard two knocks at the door, and before I could say "Fuck off" Ruby barged in anyway.

"Mom says get up and go to school, asshole," she deadpanned.

"Ruby get out." I mumbled through my face-pillow.

"Get up," she repeated dryly.

"Godammit," I yelled, pulling myself out of bed along with my blankets. I usually slept in the nude. What? It's comfortable. Not to mention it saves laundry time, although I love doing laundry. Ruby rolled her eyes like the little bitch she was and left my room, leaving my fucking door wide open. Frustrated, I leaned over and slammed the door shut and went back to my mirror.

Today, I looked like ass. My hair was greasy, I had bags under my eyes, my nose was still bruised, I had a leftover black eye (even though it wasn't really black anymore, just a weird reddish light purple). I looked at the clock. I had like an hour. I didn't know what Mom was thinking. I stared at my thick, greasy hair. An idea popped into my head. I looked down at my dresser. There were clippers and shears. I've always cut my own hair. It's cheaper, and I'm pretty good at it.

I had been growing my hair out, but now, I decided, I'm cutting it off. Grabbing the shears, I reached for the back of my hair that touched my shoulders. I gathered it into a sort-of ponytail and cut off the big portion. I cleaned up the area around my ears, making it all shorter and leaving the sideswept "bangs" in the front. Exhaling slowly, I put a guard on the clippers and took them to the back of my neck, gently moving it upward, blending it all in.

The process took about twenty minutes, and I was done. I shook my head, running my hands through my much-shorter hair. My plugs were more visible now, without long black hair hiding them. Mom would love that. I think she probably gave up when I got my first illegal tattoo at sixteen. It was the gay anchor.

"RUBY!" I yelled, pulling on some pants, although I was still shirtless.

She opened the door, "What?"

I pointed at my hair, "Does my hair look okay," I asked, turning around.

The thirteen-year-old sighed. "Yes, _Clementine_, it looks fine."

I rolled my eyes, "Fine, _Rufus_. Leave."

"Whatever," she said back, flipping me off and shutting the door. _Stupid bitch_, I thought. I threw on a pair of jeans and a Lady Gaga t-shirt and got ready to leave. I gave myself one last look in the mirror, rubbing my hand on the back of my neck. It looked decent. I headed to my door, curling my fingers around the gold-painted doorknob, sighing heavily. I wasn't ready to deal with this grades issue, but I had to.

I mumbled goodbye to my parents, went to my car, and drove to school. I picked up Kenny, like usual. The drive was boring. I was early, mostly because of my bitch sister bitching at me until I left. It seemed like he was in a better mood though. Of course he was in a good mood when I felt like dick. We passed a Dunkin Donuts on the way.

"Do you want food," I 'asked' nasally.

"Was that a question? I don't have any money, dude," he shrugged, turning out the pockets of his parka.

"That's not what I asked. I asked if you want food," I said.

"Sure, but you're paying," he laughed.

I didn't feel like laughing today. I pulled into the parking lot and parked my car, silently getting out. The two of us walked inside, ordered our food and coffee and sat down at the booth that was the least disgusting. I unwrapped my chicken biscuit only after making sure any and all crumbs were away from my food.

The Dunkin Donuts was fucking sweltering inside. I was pretty sure the owner wasn't from Colorado or basically any place that was ever cold inside ever. I pulled my chullo off by the yellow puff ball on top and sat it beside me in the neon orange seat and took a sip of the my caramel latte.

"Dude," Kenny said with his mouth full. "Did you know that… your hair is gone?"

I snorted, "Yeah, asswipe, I cut it myself this morning." I ran my hand over the back again. "Does… does it look okay." His staring made me self-conscious about my hair, so I tried not to look up.

"Your hair looks fine," he paused. "It's your face that's a wreck."

I laughed a little and flipped him off. "Shut the fuck up, McCormick."

The blond took another massive bite off his bacon egg & cheese biscuit. He had enough courtesy to chew a little before opening his mouth again. "Dude are you really wearing a _Lady Gaga_ shirt? Don't you have like," he swallowed, "some kind of 'cultured' music taste?"

I rolled my eyes. "Uh, fuck you, Lady Gaga is amazing. I'm more cultured than your redneck ass."

"Hey, I sang opera as a kid. I just happen to really like Kenny Chesney."

"Is it the name thing?"

"No he just has the voice of an angel."

I chuckled. "Faaag."

"I'm not the one wearing the Lady Gaga t-shirt."

"Eat your food, bitch."

Shortly after leaving Dunkin Donuts, we made it to school on time to meet up with the guys. I left my hat and my jacket on. I stood there in the semi-cold weather, looking around at all the other senior guys I'd grown up with. Token looked miffed as Clyde babbled about his dinner the night before. Stan and Kyle were… well they were just gay. Kenny winked at the girls walking by, occasionally whistling. He flirted more than I could ever dream of flirting. Besides that, he actually followed through with the people he flirted with more often than I did. He's charming, I'll tell you that. Tweek drank his coffee and picked at the scab on his lip. I tried not to look too much. It grossed me out just thinking about it. I just stood there silently. I had gotten used to being silent from three years of braces since freshman year. At least now I have straight teeth, but back then I never wanted anybody to see my teeth.

I looked around, and the students were all going inside. I didn't feel like talking to these assholes today, so I pushed through Stan and Kyle just to piss them off and went inside. I'm still a little bitter about Peru. I made a right turn and went up a set of stairs to get to English IV. I was failing that you know, I should probably bother to show up. I came into the classroom and it was only half-full, since the bell hadn't rung yet. The crusty old bat they liked to call a teacher eyed me suspiciously as I sat in my seat in the back. I gave her a look like "what?" with one eyebrow raised and my lip slightly curled.

I bent over sideways in my seat to pull out some lightly crinkled paper and a pen, so I could be prepared, for once. The old bat's name was actually Mrs. Plemmons, but everyone called her The Hag behind her back. Her hair was long and that yellow gray, always pulled back in a clip. She was sort of skinny, in that weird grandma way. Fucking Hag.

I doodled on the notebook paper for about five minutes until everyone was in class and the bell rang. It wasn't even a bell. It was a loud, three second beep that played over the intercom. I guess "bell" was easier than "obnoxious loud interruption"

I was in regular English, not Honors, like Kyle or Token. I didn't have the ambition to be a real Honors kid, not that those dickheads don't cheat off of each other. Stan, Kenny, Clyde, and Tweek were all in this class. Honestly I thought Kenny and Clyde should have been in remedial English, but I guess they're not complete fuckwits. Not even ten minutes into class, and The Hag was halfway through a monologue, and Clyde was asleep on his desk. The Hag levitated over to his desk, upon which he was drooling. I swear to God, that woman never walked. She just levitated wherever she went.

The Hag was old school. She always carried around a yard stick. She slowly raised it over her head, stopped, and **slammed** it down hard on the desk. The poor bastard jumped about two feet off of his seat, and screamed like a goddamn girl. I really wish that I was kidding. I'm not. Clyde blushed and looked around sheepishly.

Mrs. Plemmons furrowed her eyebrows so her forehead wrinkles were even more prominent. "NOW LISTEN UP, YOU LITTLE SHITHEADS." She was not, by any means, a lady. She swore at us. She would certainly smack the back of our heads with the Yardstick. The Hag was infamous for a reason. "Donovan! If you fall asleep again I will bust your ass. Marsh!" Stan looked up like a deer in headlights. "If I see that phone out again, it's going out that window." She pointed to the dusty window for emphasis. "McCormick! Stop blowing spitballs at Mr. Stoley!" Kenny shrugged, slumping down into his seat and crossing his arms. He didn't break eye contact with The Hag. "Tucker!" she whipped around at me, "Take off your stupid hat; I am _not_ telling you twice." I sighed and pulled my hat off my head, staring at the white board. I pursed my lips and crossed my arms.

"Hag," I mumbled. Normally, the elderly folk are hard of hearing. The Hag had dog hearing. She stopped what she was doing and calmly, slowly turned around, folding her hands in front of her.

"Mr. Tucker, would you like to grow a pair and tell me out loud like a _man_ what you just said, or are you going to pout and mumble under your breath again like a child?" The Hag raised her eyebrow and pursed her lips, waiting for my response.

_Goddammit._I stood up, "You're a fucking hag, a miserable old cunt, and a god damn bully." I picked up my bag and swung it over my shoulder, heading for the door. Stopping, I turn around and flip her off with both of my middle fingers before leaving the classroom. Yes, I was going to the office. I knew the drill.

On the way to the staff office, where Mackey was, I stopped at a smoking spot. I fucking needed one. The Goth kids were there, and I crouched on the cement, pulling out my pack of Marlboro menthols.

"You look pissed," Henrietta said flatly.

I clenched my jaw, not answering. I don't talk to the Goth kids because they're huge dicks. I looked at Henrietta and huffed a little, and then I looked away again. Holding my cigarette between my lips, I put my chullo back on. Everyone has worn hats inside the building since the dawn of time! The Hag just hates everything that's nice and good in the world. I didn't even make an effort to make the cigarette last. I smoked and then got up and went to Mackey's office.

"Craig Tucker are you kidding me? I know The Ha- _Mrs. Plemmons_- is strict-"

My eyes widened. "Mackey, she's a fucking bitch!"

The bald man rested his head on his hands. Whatever dude, I was angry, like lesbian feminist level angry. Mr. Mackey breathed in deep. "Craig, I know. It's not my problem, though. You're just gonna have to grin and bear it, m'kay? You have real bad grades, and you just can't afford to fail your last year of high school, m'kay." I clenched my jaw and flipped the useless old man off. "Seriously, Craig?" he sighed. "Go to class. Having that b…" Mackey stopped himself and started again, "Having Mrs. Plemmons is difficult enough. I'm not punishing you." I relaxed a little. "But the next time you're in this office," he pointed a finger at me, "you will regret it, Mr. Tucker."

The bell rang and I got my shit and left. My next class was art. I could handle art. The first face I saw as soon as I walked out the door was of Clyde Donovan. "Bro, that was awesome," he said, grinning, "but did you get like, a year of detention? Or did you get 100 lashes? What happened?"

"Nothing," I told him.

"Bro, you are so lucky! The Hag lost her mind after you left she like started yelling at everyone and then we just had silent packet work and some of us had sentences."

"Really," I non-asked as we walked.

"Yeah man I had to write um ' I will not fall asleep and drool on the disgusting desk ever in my forceable future or possibly as long as I live' like eighty times. My hand is cramping like a bitch, bro. Can we go to Taco Bell after school? I want like ten Doritos Locos Tacos and I'm gonna eat them all because they are so good oh my god I think jesus himself came up with the recipe."

"Foreseeable," I said.

"Huh?" Clyde stopped salivating over cheap tacos and looked at me.

"It's _foreseeable future_," I sighed, "not 'forceable', Clyde."

He laughed, "Oh, right, right. So can we go to Taco Bell and watch Red Racer like we used to do? Maybe we can go to Token's house and like, watch old Red Racer episodes in his kickass theater and maybe make more food after and stay up all night like good old times? Come ooooon we can bust out the sleeping bags!" He was all but on his hands and knees, pleading.

"Token has like six guest rooms why would we sleep in sleeping bags."

"Why **wouldn't** we?" Clyde half-yelled.

I smirked a little and said, "Sounds like a plan, kid." I had to toss him a bone some time.


	3. craig and those guys

**A/N**: _so things will be picking up in the next couple of chapters. I'm just trying to set everything up ^~^" please bear with me! This is a little shorter (and suckier) than normal sorry. Please review, it means the world to me3 thank you c:_

It was midnight. My gut was packed with cheap beef and my tongue was tingling from the hot taco sauce. My eyes were dry from staring at the giant TV at Token's mansion. The Red Racer marathon had ended an hour ago. We were watching Hostel now. Clyde was lying on the floor, Tweek was on the leather couch beside me, cowering under a fleece blanket. He's never done well with horror movies. Token sat in the recliner, his head cocked sideways staring at the screen, analyzing it like a logic puzzle.

"So the whole thing is a game played by rich men?" he asked slowly, choosing his words as though he was in class.

I nod, "Elite Hunting. It's based on a website Eli Roth and Quentin Tarantino found that offered someone an opportunity to walk into a room and shoot someone in the head for ten thousand dollars."

Tweek jumped and shrieked, "Oh my god, dude! What if somebody kidnaps me and tortures me for fun!"

We ignored Tweek. "Dude," Clyde gurgled. He was in and out of a Taco Bell coma.

Token looked perplexed. "So what's the moral of this story?"

"Don't go to Slovakia."

Tweek was literally shaking, peeking out from under his safety blanket. He was on a lot of meds now for his intense paranoia, but sometimes we all thought it was fun to set him off like this. He still couldn't handle horror movies at all. I mean the last time we watched Nightmare on Elm Street, he didn't sleep for two weeks until he literally had to be sedated. Yeah, we all felt a little guilty for that one.

Token was silent for a few minutes. There wasn't much movie left in Hostel. The main character was fighting his way out at this point with the Asian lady. I put my elbow on the arm of the couch and laid my head on my hand, staring at the screen. "Token, your silence is unsettling, even to me," I said bluntly after a couple more minutes went by.

"I'm wondering if my dad has ever done anything like this," he said, his eyes still narrow.

"Seriously?"

"No, dude, my dad is a black man. If he wanted to get blamed for shooting someone, he would just walk outside wearing a hoodie and somebody would eventually call the police."

I laughed at that. Clyde snored. Tweek screamed again. Tonight, I was away from that shit at school. It was all over. Whatever. I'll deal with it in the morning. Right now, it's just Craig and those guys. Nobody else.

Tweek started leaning on me, and that was okay. What was not okay were his nails digging into my calf. Someone else died and he yelped and dug into my skin harder. I winced and bit my lip, trying not to yell out. Finally, the movie ended. I stood up and pulled the blanket off of the coward. Token and Clyde were both completely gone.

"Tweek, come with me to the roof," I said, looking with pity at the boy.

"NO! What if somebody snatches us!" his eyes were panicked.

"I'll protect you, then," I replied, offering my hand.

He stopped shaking a little, sitting up. "Can we get a w-weapon?"

I nodded. Tweek took my hand, and on the way up the stairs, I grabbed the bat off of the wall where Mr. Black kept it in case of robberies, even though they lived in the middle of nowhere with a fucking security system that God himself couldn't break through. Tweek held a death grip onto my hand. We did this almost every single time we came over to Token's house. Clyde was a lightweight and so was Token. Tweek was an insomniac, and I just always fell asleep last.

We crawled up onto the roof through an open window on the top floor of the mansion. It was twelve-thirty, maybe, and it was pitch black outside. It was cold out, and I was wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and socks, but I didn't really care. Tweek shivered, either from the cold or fear. Probably both. Poor jittery bastard.

"Tweek, breathe in." He breathed in. "Breathe out." He breathed out. "Okay, it's okay. Nobody's coming to get you. This is a boring, shitty town. It's not Slovakia. You're gonna be fine," I soothed. Tweek was one of those people that I had some sympathy for, and I just toned everything down a notch around him when he regressed like this.

Tweek took two more deep breaths. "Okay. I'm going," he breathed again, "to be okay." Tweek laid down on the rooftop. I followed suit. The stars were beautiful, really. You don't see this shit in the city. The sky was littered with white dots, big and small. Somewhere in the distance you saw glowing yellow; that was the city. Light pollution, man.

"Sorry," Tweek whispered. I shrugged. I was getting tired, to be honest. It was kind of late. Tweek apologized a lot. He always has. I think he feels guilty because his parents are misguided. They love him a lot, but they don't show it well, and they make him scared and jumpy. But they're better now than when he was eight, because Tweak Bros closed down. It was okay, because Mr. Tweak started working at Harbucks with his wife. Tweek didn't work though. He's too shakey, and getting people's drink right is "too much pressure"

Tweek sat up quickly and I did the same. What was this stupid twiggy kid doing? It's too damn late for this shit. Jesus. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and now I could see more than just silhouettes. Tweek gnawed on the corner of his thumbnail, curling his knobby knees into his chest and wrapped his gangly arms around them. I stared at him for a minute. This motherfucker really was a complete nutcase.

"Sorry I pulled your hair," he said all of the words really fast, all at once. I nodded. "Is that why you cut it off?" he asked, gnawing on the thumb nail.

I ran my fingers through my short black hair. "No," I said.

"Oh. Okay," he sounded relieved. A couple seconds of silence went by. "Why did you cut it?" he asked, looking at me. I shrugged. "D-don't shrug at me."

"How could you tell I shrugged. It's pitch black out here."

"I have secret night vision, Craig. Duh," Tweek said, as if I'd just asked what 2 + 2 was. "Seriously, asshole, w-why did you cut your hair?"

"Why do you wanna know." I asked raising my eyebrow.

"Just cause!" He blurted out.

I laughed, "Dude, I just felt like cutting it off. Snip snip…" I looked around. The silence got awkward. Really awkward. With absolutely no warning, I felt Tweek's lips pressed against mine. His lips were chapped and they tasted like dark roast coffee and light cigarettes. I kissed back, and he dug his fingers into the back of my hair. He pulled away before I did. "That's why I wanted to know," he whispered.


End file.
